Got Your shadow
by NolaOakenshield30
Summary: Granted this could have been a lot better, I might revamp, but for now this will have to do. Thorin is devestated at the loss of Frerin (His brother-he had a brother in the book) and recalls a cherished childhood memory just before he set his younger brother's pyre on fire.
1. Chapter 1

"Thorin, my lord, please wait! You don't want to see him!"

Pushing through the small group of his kin that had managed, barely, to survive the battle with him, Thorin did not hear Balin's words and with a final violent shove toward someone that stood in his way he came to stand still before thick veil of trees.

Even through them he could see the many lifeless bodies littered upon the ground; He knew who lay among them.

Those simple soldiers whom had answered his grandfather, his own beloved grandfather, and dared the journey and battle looked at him with sorrowful eyes as he made his slow approach.

He had been moved from the countless bodies and placed alone; an act meant to show that he had been high born.

Thorin, his throat tight with his belly feeling as though it had turned to ice, slowly approached the corpse the others had tried in vain to clean up.

"Frerin," He whispered, kneeling down as the tears raised, "Oh…little brother."

He, Frerin, had more of his mother's bearing. Though his hair, now blood stained, was lighter and his features softer than Thorin's the prince knew the corpse before him had once held, within its fragile confines, someone he had loved dearly.

Frerin was as different from Thorin. Just as the Sun was different from the moon.

He had been more studious, loving books over battle, and more diplomatic where other races, even elves, were concerned.

Thorin's jaw clicked and he bowed his head so low his chin touched his chest; the loss of his father and Grandfather was enough. But to loose Frerin, barely an adult, in something Thorin knew his younger brother would have rather avoided was proving far more painful at the moment.

Almost with out realizing it, Thorin reached with out looking, and placed his hand atop his brother's cold forehead as if checking for fever.

Slowly he drew his hand downward and swept the eyes shut; Daring a look at the shocking, gaping wound that had once been his brother's chest, Thorin let out a shaky sigh.

He was alone; the last of his line save for a very young sister left behind in Ered Luin to await their, his, arrival.

Frerin, even against Thorin's advice, had promised to return to Dis and tell her every detail of their reclamation of the halls of Moria.

Dis, instead, would know only the tale of loss and experience, for the first time, what grief was.

"Thorin," a voice said behind him, "I am sorry…take heart, if you can that is, that his passing was swift; painless."

Thorin observed Balin's words just as slowly as he did rise. Casting one more look at the lost life before him, he turned slowly, and faced the wizened dwarf lord.

"Grief takes my heart," He offered flatly, "His death might have been swift…but his loss will never part from me; the same can be said in regards to my father and my grandfather."

Balin, looking exhausted and just as grief stricken, bowed his head and thought for a moment.

"Your father might yet still live," he explained, "We've found no…no evidence he fell."

"Not yet," Thorin whispered, and then his eyes became very dark.

"How many?"

Balin looked at him sharply, hesitating, before shaking his head. "We…we do not yet know…w-we might never get a definite count and~"

"Burn them."

Balin's eyes widened at the icy order and made to protest. Thorin was heavy with grief there was no doubt about that. Yet still, Balin couldn't believe that he was giving such a sudden order.

"Thorin…that will take some time and much effort," Balin began to argue, "We'd have to just…make piles-piles!-and burn them all together. Is that what you want?"

Thorin's eyes flashed to such a severe the degree that Balin recoiled as though he expected to be struck.

"Would you rather we allow the vultures to pick at their flesh?" Thorin asked as though engaged in casual conversation, "Or would you honor them the best way we can?"

Balin, beginning to feel the ache of the long battle, offered a small bow. "As you wish," He said, "I'll gather some troops and start the process."

As he turned to go, even through his thick armor, Balin felt the touch of the dwarf prince and he looked at him and waited.

"Leave Frerin…leave him to me."

Balin's mouth parted in wonderment for a moment at Thorin's soft words; but nonetheless he nodded without another word and set himself to the horrid task that would surely last them several more hours in a land now stained forever in the blood of so many brave and proud lives.


	2. Chapter 2

The pyre was a simple one; far too simple considering who Frerin was.

Thorin sat cross legged upon the stale grass, caring not if he sat upon dying blood, and viewed the shabby pyre for a moment more.

He was tired and his body ached; he had said nothing of it, but he could tell some of his ribs were broken and was almost certain that his forearm, the one that wielded the oak branch against the filthy beast, had been damaged as well.

He'd have his injuries treated soon enough but for now, a more pressing and devastating task lay waiting before him to fulfill.

Suddenly, Thorin took a sharp breath and stiffened, and his very soul went cold.

Upon the makeshift pyre lay not an almost adult Frerin, but Frerin as a boy. His dwarrow self.

Thorin blinked, bowed and shook his head. Looking back up, he realized, He'd hallucinated. A side effect, no doubt, from all that He had endured coupled with the raw grief growing inside of him.

Thorin pinched his nose and breathed slowly in and out for a moment just as a ghost memory came to the forefront of his mind.

A smirk danced on his lips and he muttered: "Got your shadow."

It had been a childhood game, Frerin's favorite, that the two of them had often played when relieved of their studies and weapons training.

They chased each other in circles; in rooms where the light was good and made their shadows easy to see.

Frerin had proven the better, the faster and often Thorin would laugh when his little brother's foot stamped upon his long shadow and the little prince cried "Got your shadow again!"

Those moments were often brief but, Thorin realized, they were the most cherished parts of his childhood.

Frerin had started to play the game with Dis not long before the fall of Erebor, the fault of that damn dragon, and still he'd proven the better player. Much to Dis' frustrations.

Sniffing Thorin rose and looked into the dusky sky for a moment; wondering over many things but, most of all, whether or not they could see him now.

"Forgive me," He whispered, "There is no other way."

Balin had brought and thrust the torch into the bloody earth himself before departing long ago and now Thorin eyed it with great emotion.

Looking back the pyre at rogue thought invaded his head; _'Wake up!'_ He thought desperately, _'Please Frerin wake up…don't make me go back alone!'_

A sinking feeling settled within the prince as the tears began to burn at the back of his eyes and as he shook his head and hurriedly retrieved the torch.

Standing before the pyre, the pleasant memory haunted him once more and a devastating realization nearly crumpled him.

_'Got your shadow,'_ Thorin thought as he approached the oil soaked wood, _'that's all I have you now, Brother. That's all I have of anyone or anything.'_

Thorin thrust the torch into an opening at the bottom and dropped it; observing the rising flames as he sank to his knees, the prince's mind was overcome completely.

As the body wracking sobs took him fully, Thorin recalled a great many bittersweet moments.

Nothing now, save for cherished shadows, of a peaceful past.


End file.
